


Roundabout

by heavvymetalqueen



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 12:57:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8490691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavvymetalqueen/pseuds/heavvymetalqueen
Summary: When he told John to get a better base, he didn’t mean for him to take up one in the middle of the goddamned ocean.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Skitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skitty/gifts).



> Written for the prompt: "PW era- ocelot coming to visit motherbase and seeing big boss"

Snake looks like shit. His hair and beard are overgrown and puffed up with humidity, dripping dirty rainwater down his bare back, digging trails through the grime and mud caked on his skin. He also has the kind of wet, crunching cough that would snap the ribs of a lesser man. 

As it is, it just makes him grumble whenever he takes a hit of his cigar and it starts again. 

His second in command - Kazuhira Miller, half American half Japanese, all business shark, why does John like him so much he’ll never know - comes into the small room they share and John glares at him. 

“Kaz,” he says, his voice low and threatening. “Go check the perimeter.”

Miller blinks, his dumb aviator sunglasses already in his hands as he got ready to turn in. “I already...”

“Do it again. Better.”

Miller rolls his eyes. “You know Boss, you could just tell me if you need some privacy,” he sighs, and then pulls his aviators back on - why, who knows. It’s night and there’s no light in the jungle - and stomps off. 

As soon as his steps have faded, Ocelot slips down the damp rafter he’d been perched upon. 

Snake, obviously, does not react. He knew he was there. 

Ocelot fans his face with his hand. He can’t believe a place could be this hot, this intolerably humid. He’s down to his sleeveless _telnyashka_ and even that feels like it’s soaked in broth, sticking to his sweaty skin uncomfortably. 

Snake finally deigns to look at him with a smirk. “Can’t handle the heat?”

“You know there are places on Earth that aren’t this intolerable to live in, right.”

Snake snorts. Takes a puff of his cigar. Starts coughing. 

In two strides Ocelot is standing between his parted knees and plucking the cigar from his mouth. Takes a puff, grimaces - what is this thing _made_ of, rotten leaves and dead rats? - and then forcefully snuffs it out in the overflowing tin ashtray on the small table that also holds the only light source, a flickering oil lamp. 

“You shouldn’t smoke with that cough.”

“I don’t....”

“Don’t give me the _I don’t inhale the smoke_ shit, John. It makes it worse.”

Snake grumbles loudly but doesn’t actually retrieve the cigar. Instead, he rests his big hands on Ocelot’s hips. “Hi there,” he says, looking up at him with a hint of a smile. 

“Hi yourself,” smiles Ocelot. 

“Coming or going?” 

Ocelot snorts. “Coming. Don’t flatter yourself.” Sure, he’s added a whole day and a half to the return trip from the mission in order to make the trip all the way from Guatemala to Colombia, but John doesn’t need to know _that_. 

“Hmm.” He starts pawing at his sides and hips.

“I’m not bugged, John - for fuck’s sake,” groans Ocelot. “What kind of a rookie do you take me for?”

“Doesn’t hurt to check, now does it.” But he’s done checking, because now the hands are gripping his sides possessively and he’s pressing his face into his stomach, hot and steamy. “Smells good.”

“As opposed to you, I have regular access to soap. And hot water.” He glances at the sputtering oil lamp. “And electricity.”

Snake ignores him. “How long?”

“An hour. I got to catch a boat three miles up the coast in two hours.”

Snake grunts. “Barely enough time for a quickie.”

“Is that all you think I’m here for?”

Snake nuzzles his damp shirt up, exposing his lower stomach. Trails a wet circle with his tongue around his navel, laps the sweat off the sparse hair disappearing down his pants. “Aren’t you.”

“Well I do have updates but...you are making a good argument for yourself,” he chuckles, pushing him down on the tiny bed and straddling him. 

Snake is hotter than a furnace, scorching his palms as he gropes him, his mouth searing his tongue as he kisses him. He tastes of sweet smoke and bitter mate, his beard scratchy and thick with sweat. 

Their clothes stick to their bodies, tangle in their hands as they push and pull at them to get them off, straining to feel each other skin to skin. 

Ocelot feels dizzy, his brain addled with humidity and need and the heat Snake’s rough palm holding their erections together. 

He pants and whimpers pleas in Snake’s mouth, his skin burning, his whole body throbbing.

“Adam,” growls Snake, biting his lip, grinding into him, his breath faltering.

It’s over so quickly, and it still feels like he’s going to pass out from the sheer intensity of it, the effort of coming undone on Snake’s scarred stomach while heat saps all his energy.

“I hate this jungle,” he pants when he can breathe, dropping off him, limp and literally dripping with sweat. Snake just laughs at him. “How can you live like this. It’s like breathing soup.”

“It’s not so bad.”

“Yeah and that cough is totally healthy.”

Snake rolls his eye. 

Ocelot pushes his soaked hair off his face. “John...haven’t you done enough penance already?”

Snake’s eye goes cold and hard, but he doesn’t move. Ocelot knows he’s the only one who gets to say this kind of thing without getting punched in the face. 

He only wishes he would actually _listen_ to him. 

“It’s what I want, Adam.”

“Is it really? Or just what you think you deserve?”

Snake pushes off the bed to sit on the edge. Takes the snuffed cigar, clicks his zippo a maddening amount of times, finally lights it. 

And coughs. 

Ocelot sighs, rolling onto his back and wiping the sweat off his forehead. “Fine. Kill yourself for her if that’s what you want. See if I care.”

They both know he cares with every cell of his being. At least Snake has the decency not to say anything. 

After a while of just listening to the rain pelt down on the corrugated tin roof of the shack, Snake speaks. “How’s Eva?”

It’s Ocelot’s turn to go serious and dark. “She’s fine. She’s...almost there. At term, I mean.”

“Great,” grunts Snake. He chews on his cigar, tension pulling his shoulderblades together. “Just fucking lovely.”

“It’s two. They’re healthy.”

Another grunt.

“I....I can steal them. I mean, it’d probably blow my cover for good but I can get all three out of there, take them somewhere safe. Just say the word, John. Don’t let....” _don’t let those kids grow up like I did_ , he almost says. He doesn’t know what to say instead so he just goes quiet. 

“I don’t fucking care. They’re not mine. They are not even human as far as I’m concerned.” He snorts, coughs, puffs angrily on his cigar. “If you want to play family with Eva knock yourself out but don’t bring me into it.”

Ocelot sighs. “Of course. I’m sorry.”

Snake sets the cigar on the ashtray’s edge and lies down again. His eye is clouded and tired. Ocelot kisses the bridge of his nose. 

“Just,” he mutters quietly. “Tell Eva I’m not mad at her. I don’t....want them to exist but. I’m happy for her. If that’s what she wants.”

It’s not, and nobody knows as much as Ocelot does what Eva’s been through this past eight months and the year leading up to it. But again, John doesn’t need to know that, doesn’t need to know about her quiet sobbing at night, the blood soaking her sheets after each of the lesser lives is snuffed inside her. The marks of her nails on his hand every time Clark puts her cold hands to her stomach, stretched and heavy with their worst sin. 

“I’ll tell her,” he says quietly. 

Snake closes his eye, rough fingertips drawing spirals into the sheen of sweat on Ocelot’s stomach. “When do I see you again?”

Ocelot grimaces. “Hard to tell. I don’t think I have anything to do in Central America for a while, sorry. I’ve already risked a lot to sneak here.”

“I know,” grumbles Snake. 

“Tell you what,” he grins, pushing himself up. He should start getting ready. “Find yourself a base that’s not this disgusting and hot, and I’ll visit again.”

Snake blows his wet hair out of his face. “Using sex to get me to do what you want. Very honorable, _Adamska_.”

Ocelot climbs over him and off the bed. “What use is honor to a spy,” he chuckles. “Just a bunch of outdated guidelines on how to manipulate people better.”

Snake rolls on his other side to look at him. He’s trying to be disapproving but there’s too much fondness in his eye. Ocelot wishes he didn’t have to leave. He wants to roll in this sticky humidity with John all night, kiss him until he can’t breathe, be devoured by his heat. 

But, duty calls. 

He drops the folder of files he’s painstakingly copied off Zero’s desk at the foot of the bed. “Try not to let that blond bimbo of yours see these. I don’t trust him.”

“You don’t trust anybody.”

“And that’s why I’m still alive, a fact I’m sure you’re glad of.”

“Ecstatic.” Snake’s eye is starting to droop with sleep. He lays a bare leg over the folder for safekeeping. Good enough. 

Ocelot, dressed again in clothes that feel like they just came out of a washing machine, leans over and kisses his temple. “Till next time, John.”

“Till next time, Adam,” mumbles Snake, and dozes off just as Ocelot slips unnoticed out of the shack and into the oppressive Colombian rainforest.

***

When he told John to get a better base, he didn’t mean for him to take up one in the middle of the goddamned _ocean_. 

Finding a way to get on the damn thing wasn’t so hard - a dirty jumpsuit and a quick search of the area where MSF usually picked up POWs from was enough. 

Finding the right time and mission to get “rescued” on, on the other hand, has been more complicated. Snake isn’t handling the POWs anymore so Ocelot needed to study the MSF routes and missions for over two weeks to pick the right one. And keep his snooping away from Zero’s increasingly paranoid interest.

The things he does for love. 

He braces himself when the rookie clumsily straps the fulton harness to him, reassuring him it’s going to be over soon, that he’s safe. 

No amount of bracing could have prepared him for _this_. All his internal organs get shoved into his throat as his body is snatched upwards incredibly fast. 

By the time the fulton balloon has stabilized, Ocelot is ready for death. He floats limply, his head spinning and the nausea overwhelming.

He’s pulled roughly onto the helicopter, dropped on the floor and his hands untied. Somebody passes him a canteen of water, which he accepts gratefully, his stomach still trying desperately to escape from his mouth. When he’s done he passes it back to the soldier, who proceeds to let the still tied up enemy soldiers drink. That’s nice of him. 

In an hour or so they’re heading back, the floor of the helicopter quite crowded. The enemy soldiers that are still conscious cry and whine and shit talk, but the MSF soldiers just smile, knowing they’ll turn around quickly. 

It’s fascinating in a way, to see John’s charisma in action in such an indirect way. His men really do adore him. He can understand them, their genuine trust and admiration, though in a slightly different way. 

The base is impressive as it grows closer on the horizon. Much better than the satellite pictures he’s seen. Tall and imposing, standing huge and glittering over the bright blue sea. He can see the appeal, why John enjoys this kind of freedom, unmoored by land and law. Especially as opposed to the oppressive darkness and humidity of the Central American jungle. 

“Thirteen new recruits and a POW, Commander,” says one of the soldiers, saluting as he jumps off the chopper. For a second Ocelot’s heart skips a beat seeing Miller standing right outside the doors, before remembering Miller has never actually met him before. He has no idea who he is. Sure, he doesn’t look Costa Rican but who is _he_ to judge, really. 

“Anybody hurt? Anybody causing trouble?”

“One recruit with what I think is a concussion and the POW is lookin’ mighty pale, Commander. The rest are behaving.”

“Good. Bring those two to the infirmary, and the rest - with me.”

Ocelot looks at Miller leading the prisoners away as he’s gently escorted to the infirmary. He seems to be holding the fort quite well, though he still can’t understand what John sees in him. 

“I...have something to tell your boss,” he tells the soldier leading him, going for a thick Spanish accent. “I have. Um, informations.”

The soldier hesitates. “I’ll tell him.”

“It’s about the wild cats.” He figures not even John is _this_ dense. 

The soldier blinks. “Sure, I’ll let Boss know. Well, here we are. Take care. Welcome to Mother Base.”

“Thank you,” he says pleasantly.

Thankfully the knocked out soldier requires more attention than him. He’s just given water and a pill and let be. He cheeks the pill but drinks the water, and waits. 

As expected Snake comes into the infirmary not even ten minutes after he’s sat down, his hair wind-swept and a hint of pink on his cheeks. 

God, he’s gorgeous. 

He stares at him like he’s seen a ghost, a grin threatening to break on his face. 

“Doc, do you still need this guy? I need to talk to him.”

The pleasant, handsome doctor waves his hand. “All yours, boss!”

“Come with me,” says Snake, trying desperately to keep his composure as Ocelot grins from ear to ear. 

The second they step out of the infirmary and the salty air hits his face, Ocelot finds himself slammed into a metal wall, Snake’s mouth glued to his, his big hands groping his legs to pull them around his waist.

“Missed me, huh,” laughs Ocelot breathlessly when they come up for air. 

“Says the one who got himself fultoned for some ass,” growls Snake. 

“Speaking of which....” he drops back with his feet on the ground, reaching around to give Snake’s ass a good firm squeeze. “Let’s get this somewhere private, shall we.”

Snake pretty much carries him to his quarters, Ocelot laughing the whole way. 

***

The door is slammed behind them and Ocelot thrown on the bed. The buttons of his jumpsuit explode all over the room when Snake rips it open from neck to groin. 

“I like this easy access thing. You should do it more often.”

“In your dr-eah!ms,” moans Ocelot, his voice breaking when his cock is swallowed to the root. “God, still haven’t learned about foreplay, have you.”

“No time,” mutters Snake, slobbering around his hardening cock. “Need you now.”

Ocelot twins his fingers into Snake’s hair, pulling enough to make him wince. “Then come and get me.”

Snake pounces on him as if _he_ was the wild cat, rubbing against him and kissing and biting at everything he can find as Ocelot struggles with his shirt and pants. 

“So...much...clothing,” he grunts, pushing him off. “Get naked.”

“Yessir,” grins Snake, and makes short work of what little he hs left, proudly standing naked in the middle of the room. “Your turn.”

Ocelot shrugs the jumpsuit off and it pools on the floor. “Well, that was easy.”

Snake crawls over him, slow and predatory, his cock dragging over Ocelot’s thighs, his stomach. “Told you. Easy access. It’s nice.”

Ocelot rolls him on his back, pinning him down with his weight. 

“So bossy, _Adamska_ ,” rumbles Snake, his legs wrapping around his waist. 

Ocelot whines. John always uses his full name when he’s trying to drive him crazy and it always _works_. 

Snake leans over to his nightstand, and Ocelot keeps himself busy sucking on his neck until the bottle of lotion is pressed in his hand, sticky and half empty.

“Somebody’s been busy,” he chuckles as he squirtes a good dollop of it on his palm. 

“Well you _have_ been away for a long time,” whispers Snake into his ear. “I gotta make do somehow.”

“Oh yeah?” he closes his teeth around his earlobe, his slick hand snaking between them, ghosting over John’s cock, and reaching beyond to press inside of him. “Think of me often when you’re fucking yourself in this little room?”

Snake gasps, arching against him as his fingers slip inside easily. “All the time,” he breathes into his ear. “Nights are long out at sea.” He groans, rolling into Ocelot’s fingers. “God, get on with it.”

Ocelot pulls out to prop himself at the sides of his head, guiding himself into him, burying himself into that impossible heat. Snake moans, a small broken sound nobody else but him will ever get to hear, breathy and needy. 

He wraps his arm around his neck, holding him close as Ocelot thrusts into him, his other hand still gripping his hip, pulling him down hard. 

Their movements get frantic quickly, the bed underneath them squeaking as they hurtle towards release. Snake bites down on his shoulder, hard, drawing blood and a strained cry out of him. He thrusts deep, Snake already throbbing and grinding and coming on his stomach, and lets go; nails dig deep into his hips and his back arches so hard it pops.

They drop on their sides, panting, twitching with aftershocks. 

“We’re getting old,” chuckles Ocelot. “We used to be able to last a lot longer.”

“Mmm.” Snake trails his fingers in the white stains on his stomach, brings them to his mouth to lick them clean. “Give me ten minutes and I’ll give you longer.”

“Yeah yeah,” he mumbles, snuggling into his chest. Always so warm and comfortable. He wishes he could sleep like this every night, not just once every few months. 

“So,” says Snake after a while. “Why all the trouble?”

“It’s surprisingly hard to reach you in the middle of the sea, you know.”

“You could have just told me. I’d have come pick you up.”

“You would still have needed a pilot and to tell people you were leaving the base. And that’s not something we can afford right now.”

Snake grunts. “Our mole is gone. A mole you didn’t warn me about, by the way.”

His hand is resting in the small of Ocelot’s back. There’s no threat in it, but it’s heavy enough to make sure he gets the point. He failed him.

“I know. I knew about Zanordov but...he never told me about the girl. I guess I was naive enough to think he wouldn’t use a _kid_ for his schemes.”

“Wouldn’t have been the first time.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

The hand relaxes, rough fingertips drawing lazy spirals in dip of his spine. 

“Paz was not the only mole,” says Ocelot finally. 

Snake’s eyebrows knit together but he says nothing. 

“There’s another one...probably two.”

“Who?”

“Well.” He sighs. “I don’t have conclusive evidence but I wouldn’t trust Emmerich as far as I could throw him.”

“I don’t. He’s a rat bastard.”

“Yeah. He’s still better off working for you at the moment, though.”

“Hmmm.” Snake’s hand stills again. “Who’s the other one.”

Ocelot hesitates. He pushes himself off, sits up, not facing him “I’m....not a hundred percent sure.”

“Who is it, Adam.”

Ocelot sighs. “Miller. It’s Miller.”

Snake is quiet for a long while, then he sighs. “Yeah.”

“You knew?”

“Suspected it.” He grimaces. “He’s a bad liar.”

Ocelot feels a surge of anger rise in him. “If you suspected it, why the hell is he still here?”

“MSF is as much his creation as it is mine. I can’t do this without him, and he can’t do it without me.”

Ocelot frowns, but says nothing. He leans over to the nightstand, taking one of Snake’s cigars. He rolls it in his fingers, cuts the tip and lights it. Takes a few puffs, grimaces, and hands it to Snake, slipping it between his lips. 

Snake takes a good drag, uncaring of the ash falling on the sheets. “He’s doing it for the money, isn’t he,” he says through the smoke trailing out of his mouth. 

“Yeah, far as I can tell. Large deposits of Cipher money sneakily getting onto MSF’s accounts through proxy banks. From what I’ve managed to suss out, he hasn’t really told Zero much of importance though. I don’t think he knew about Paz’s entire scheme. It’s just mission data, some odd personal stuff about you.”

“Hm.”

“There was some stuff about Peace Walker and the-” his voice wavers, infinitesimally so. Only Snake would be able to tell. “- the Mammal Pod that only he could have known.”

Snake snorts, smoke puffing out of his nostrils. “If Zero thinks he can steal Strangelove from us and try to do with _her_ what he tried to do with me, he’s got another thing coming.”

“Yeah. Keep Strangelove close by.”

“She’d probably spit in his face, anyway.” He sighs, leaving his half smoked cigar in the ashtray by the bed and rolling to his back, arms loosely crossed on his chest. “You’ll tell me if Kaz starts being dangerous, right?”

“Of course. Immediately. The reason I didn’t tell you right away was because it was so....weird. I wanted to talk to you face to face about it.”

“Thank you,” says Snake quietly, and Ocelot knows he means it. The luxury of being careful with each other’s feelings is a risk they can take very, very rarely.

Ocelot smiles briefly, then lays down again. “Honestly, I don’t know what Zero is doing. He’s basically financing half of your base for information that even I wouldn’t have problems giving him.”

Snake makes a gruff muttering sound. “If he wants to give me money, let him. It’s _your_ money anyway.”

Ocelot slowly twirls his fingers in Snake’s hair. It’s getting long. “Maybe it’s some kind of clumsy attempt to make amends for what he did to you. I don’t know. I’ve been around him for years and I still don’t quite know what he’s trying to accomplish.” He looks into Snake’s eye. “In a twisted way, you two are more similar than you’ll ever admit.”

Snake grunts. “Adam.”

“Yeah?”

“Stay here.”

Ocelot blinks. 

“Fuck Zero, fuck the Patriots, fuck spying for me. Just stay here. With me.”

“John. I can’t do that,” he frowns. “If I suddenly go missing they’ll be coming here first.”

“I can take ‘em. We can take ‘em all. Let’s turn the moles against him, use his tricks to cut him off for good.”

Ocelot snorts. “John. Be serious.”

“I am serious. I want you to stay on Mother Base with me. I’m tired of this. I’m tired of the spy games. I’m tired of sharing you.”

“You aren’t sharing me. Even when I’m across the world, I belong to you, completely,” says Ocelot quietly, staring straight into his eye. 

Snake makes a low groaning noise, lurching forward to crush their mouths together, hands buried in his hair. 

“You think I’m staying away from you, chasing after the old fucker because I enjoy it?” Says Ocelot on his lips. “I’m protecting you, John. Protecting _us_. Our promise.”

“What the fuck is the point of protecting something if we die of old age before we can enjoy it?”

Ocelot drags his fingers into his hair with a groan. “We won’t. I promise you. Look at what you’re doing here. It’s amazing. These people love you.” He kisses his lips, softly. “We just need to keep at it a little longer. When the time is right....I’ll come here to stay.”

Snake grunts, a childish pout on his face. “Fine. Then stay a few days.”

“I can’t...”

“Adam,” Snake rarely sounds this needy, this selfish. 

And he misses him. He misses him so much, with every breath he takes away from him, and he’s still heartbroken he couldn’t be at his side when he needed him the most. “All right,” he concedes. “I’ll talk to Eva. I think I can scrape out about three days. That’s....all I can give you.”

Snake wraps his arms around him, possessive. “I’ll make it be enough.”

Ocelot tucks his nose in Snake’s under chin, breathing into his scent of sea salt and gunpowder. “Thank you,” he whispers. “There’s nothing I want more than be done with this and....spend the rest of my days at your side.”

“It is your place, after all.”

They hold for a while, just listening to each other’s heartbeat and the seagulls screeching outside the open window, and wish they never had to separate again. 

When Ocelot leaves three days later hidden inside a shipment crate, he does so with John’s taste still on his lips and the promise they’ll meet again soon, just as always. 

He hopes it won’t be to long, this time.


End file.
